Of Relationships & Realizations
by Arctic Rose
Summary: Finally, the entire ORAR saga, including the long-awaited and never-before-seen conclusion to "Too Much Love Will Kill You."
1. The Beginning

**Chapter 1: The Beginning**

Daria M. Lane scanned the grocery store aisle, looking for her husband's favorite brand of soup. Sighing, she realized they were all out - yet another complication in an already overcomplicated marriage. 

She slowly pushed the cart forward. How had things gotten to this point? They had seemed to be going so well... 

Allowing herself a moment of reflection, she thought about her long-time relationship with Trent Lane. She had had the biggest crush on him when she moved to Lawndale in high school...something her best friend Jane Lane (who also happened to be his younger sister) had teased her about mercilessly. She had gotten to know him better, however, and he had become more of a good friend, even helping her admit to her feelings for her first real boyfriend: Tom Sloane. She winced inwardly; what a mess that had been. Tom had been Jane's boyfriend at the time, and at first she hadn't liked him at all. Eventually, though, after getting to know him better, she had not only started liking him but had also fallen for him - even though he was still going out with Jane. After the truth had come out - a catalyst had been their first kiss, completely unplanned and also while he was still Jane's boyfriend - Daria had been afraid Jane would never forgive her. Things had sorted themselves out, however, although their relationship hadn't been smooth from there, not by a long shot. 

But, eventually, college had come up, and they broke up...not because of anything in particular, but his (rich) parents had insisted on sending him to some Ivy League college and neither of them wanted a long-distance relationship. They had both moved on. 

After she had finished college, Daria had gotten a job writing a column for the Lawndale paper, and Trent, who had gotten a record contract as a soloist (Mystik Spiral had broken up a few years previous), asked her out and they had eventually gotten married. 

The first few years were quite happy - they had purchased a small house in New York, Daria had gotten a journalism position for the Times, and Trent's album had been a hit - and they had gotten through things fairly well. But after three and a half years together, Daria had gotten pregnant. Trent had been ecstatic; he wanted to have the kid, but Daria wasn't sure she wanted to go through with the pregnancy. Finally, the point had become moot, as Daria had miscarried in her 3rd month. The baby was lost, and the doctors told her it would be unlikely that she would conceive again. Even though it wasn't her fault, Trent had seemed to blame her for it, and had become distant, until they even stopped sleeping together. She wanted to talk about it, but she had never been good at talking about her feelings, and when Trent was so uncooperative it just seemed pointless. 

Pushing the cart along the aisle, Daria fought the tears that still threatened to rise at the memory. Although she hadn't realized it, part of her really had wanted that baby, and had been devastated by its loss. And now she was losing Trent...she really didn't know how she was going to handle things sometimes. 

Briefly, she wondered how Tom was getting along. The last time she had seen him had been at her wedding. He had brought his wife Myrna along, a young, pretty Native American girl whom he had met in college. She wished them both nothing but happiness, but sometimes she still wondered about what would've happened between her and Tom...the road not taken... 

"Daria? Is that you?" 

Oh, boy. It looked as if her road not taken was coming back with a vengeance. She turned. "Tom?" 

"Daria! It is you! What - How are you?" 

Daria swallowed hard. At 29, Tom looked really great. A few gray hairs here and there, but mostly unchanged. In fact, the biggest change was that he now wore a suit instead of the cargo pants he had favored as a teenager. She broke into a smile, something she hadn't done much lately. "Tom, it's wonderful to see you." 

Tom smiled back at her. God, he hasn't aged a day, she thought, then mentally chiding herself for thinking in cliches. It was true, though. "I've been wondering how you are," he said. "I tried emailing you, but it said the account was inactive." 

"Yes, I stopped using that address about the time that --" She was about to say "I miscarried", but somehow she didn't trust herself to go on without breaking down in tears, something she rarely did and never in public. Swallowing the lump in her throat and getting her emotions under control, she said in her flat, non-emotive voice: "I'm sorry. Would you like to go somewhere and talk?" 

Tom looked at her concernedly. He knew that Daria only sounded like that when she was nearly overcome by emotion, and he decided he had better get her out of the store before she broke down and embarrassed herself. "Sure. Do you want to finish your shopping?" 

Daria looked at the items she had haphazardly tossed in while she was reminiscing. "Never mind, I'll just leave it. I wasn't really paying attention anyway." 

Looking at the assorted goods, Tom chuckled. He had never known Daria to eat frozen lasagna ever since she moved out. "I see what you mean. Come on, I'll give you a ride." Seeing her look, he added, "Oh, don't worry, I have a decent car now. After all, the head of Sloane, Inc. should have a good set of wheels, hm?" 

Daria smiled again and followed him out of the store. As they got into his car, she felt she should say something, so she made an attempt at small talk. "So...how's Myrna doing?" 

A flicker of emotion crossed Tom's face before he pushed it away. "Divorced. I heard she's remarried, though I haven't seen her since the court trial about a year and a half ago." 

Daria had never been good at sympathising, but she truly felt sorry for Tom -- he had seemed happy with his marriage. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear it." 

Tom shook his head. "Doesn't matter. It was probably for the best anyway. She was sort of my trophy the way I was hers. It just got to the point where we couldn't remember why we married each other...sorry, I know that sounds cliched, but it's true." 

Having accused herself of the same offense earlier, Daria didn't mind. "That's all right. So, where are we headed?" 

"My place okay? It's a mess right now, I just moved, but I have food." 

"Sounds good." Daria briefly wondered what Trent would think, but then decided it didn't matter -- he would probably be working late anyway. 

When they got to Tom's apartment, Daria sat on the floor, leaning her back against an unpacked box. "Nice place." 

Tom went into the kitchen to make some food. "It'll be better once I get things unpacked and set up." 

Daria nodded. "Or you could claim that you just moved to anyone who asks until you move out." 

Tom chuckled. "Yeah, but it would be hell trying to find things." A moment later Daria heard the microwave beep and Tom came into the living room carrying two bowls of chicken soup complete with goldfish crackers. She smiled a bit -- once, when she was having problems, he had offered to bring her this very meal. She inhaled the scent of the soup, letting it calm her. Carefully, she took a bite. 

"So, now, tell me please...what's wrong?" Tom looked at her questioningly. 

Not really knowing where to start, Daria looked down into her soup, watching the crackers float around. Finally, she opened her mouth and the entire story came tumbling out -- the pregnancy, her and Trent's differing feelings, the miscarriage, Trent's coldness towards her since, how she wasn't sure Trent would ever forgive her. When she was finished, she stared down into her soup, unable to speak for fear she would break down and start crying. 

Tom was silent for a while, thinking it over. "Well, it seems to me that the question is...do you still love Trent?" 

Daria shook her head. "I don't know, really. I used to, I know that, and maybe I still do, but right now I really don't know." 

They were silent for a bit while she ate her soup. Finally Tom spoke. "Daria, I have to admit to something. When I was divorcing Myrna, I thought more that once that maybe things would have turned out better if we hadn't let our relationship slide. So, I want you to think about something. If things don't work out between you and Trent, well...you'll always have a place to run to here." 

That did it. What was left of her emotional resolve crumbled and she broke down completely. Tears started rolling silently down her face, and Tom enfolded her in a warm hug while she sobbed into his shirt. Tom held her gently, and she felt so loved and protected and secure, that she let the tears flow and cried until her emotions were spent. 

Then she kissed him. 

It was almost against her will, rather like the first time they had kissed -- she suddenly felt drawn to his lips. She pulled away, gasping at her own boldness, only to utter a mental "Oh hell" and kiss him again (Why did he have to be so good-looking?!), pull off his jacket (God, he was seriously well-built!) and feel him caress her hair (Trent hadn't done that in ages!), kiss her neck, unbutton her blouse...part of her wanted to stop this before it got out of hand, but a bigger part of her wanted him -- it had been a long drought and he was here and he loved her... 

~~~~~~~~ 

She was unsure how long they lay there, gasping and panting for breath. Finally, Tom spoke, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and contentedness. 

"It's been...a long time." 

She rolled over onto her side, enjoying the warmth of both his body and their afterglow. "For me too." 

He looked in her eyes then. "Really?" 

She nodded once, slowly. "Yeah. Trent and I...we stopped a little after my miscarriage. About a year and a half ago." She smiled her Mona Lisa smile. "I didn't even make love to myself after that...I felt undeserving, somehow." 

Tom looked at her, and there was nothing but amazement in his eyes. "What a waste...but that's kind of funny. It was about a year and a half ago when Myrna and I quit too...and I haven't been with anyone since." 

"Really? A handsome young rich businessman like yourself? I'm sure you had plenty of offers." 

"Oh, that was never the problem, it was more...I didn't want to share myself with someone I didn't care about. Someone whom I couldn't talk with afterwards without boring myself to death." 

Daria snuggled down closer to him. "Thanks for saving yourself for me." 

"And you for me." 

They were silent for a moment, and then Daria said, "Well, I guess the question now is, what do I do from here, now that I have totally and completely screwed my marriage, possibly beyond repair?" 

Tom abruptly grabbed her hand. "Daria...maybe this isn't the best time to ask this, but I suppose I should get it out before I chicken out again...will you marry me? 

"Are you serious?" 

Tom coughed, somewhat nervously. "Well, yes, I am. I've been thinking about you a lot recently. I suppose it was luck that I ran into you at the grocery store. Luck, or serendipity -- do you know how many Lanes there are in New York? Anyhow, even though I didn't know how I was going to find you, I really wanted to -- I guess I wanted to see if you were, well..." 

"Available?" 

"Yeah." 

"You are serious." 

Tom took a deep breath, then let it out. "Yes. I love you, Daria. I loved you for years, I just tried to convince myself that I didn't when I married Myrna. When you were getting married and the preacher asked if anyone had any reason why he shouldn't marry you, part of me wanted to stand up and yell, 'Yes! I love her and I don't want her to marry Trent!" But I didn't, and you married him, and things worked out the way they did, and...well...here we are. I guess I'm just asking for a chance to fix a mistake that I made years ago." 

Daria was silent, a single tear rolling down her cheek. Trent hadn't told her he loved her in over a year. Finally she spoke. "I love you too, Tom. But I think I love Trent too. I just don't know who I love more, or whether Trent and I have grown apart. I'll have to think about it for a while." 

Tom wrapped his arms around her, inhaling the scent of her hair. "That's all I ask." 

~~~~~~~ 

The next morning, Tom drove her home. Before she got out of the car, he leaned over and kissed her, saying, "Just think about it. Call me when you decide, or even if you just want to talk. And remember that I love you." 

Daria nodded, then got out and faced her house. Steeling her resolve, she marched up the steps to what was almost certainly going to be a confrontation. 

The door opened before she reached the top step. Trent stood there looking at her, not with anger or malice, but with love, and more than a little sadness. It was a look that he had not given her in a long time, but it still melted her heart, and she could not bring herself to meet his eyes. 

"Hey, love." 

She was surprised, he also hadn't called her "love" for a long time, and she wasn't sure exactly how to respond. "Hi." 

"We need to talk." 

"Yes, we do." 

She went inside, hung up her coat, and sat down on the couch. Trent went into the kitchen and brought something out: an arrangement of a dozen deep purple roses, her favorite. 

"Happy Anniversary." 

She frowned. "But wasn't that --" 

"Last night." 

Daria mentally kicked herself. How could she have forgotten? Trent always did something romantic for their anniversary, and what had she been doing last night? Guilt flooded into her, and despite her resolve, she found herself near tears. "Trent-- I--" 

"Listen to me for a moment, Daria. When you didn't come home last night, I realized something. I've been a real bastard to you. I haven't told you I love you in over a year at least, I spent most of my time convincing myself that I didn't love you anymore, because it hurt less that way. But the truth is, I do love you. I know what happened with the baby wasn't your fault, and I should never have let it come between us. 

"But I'm afraid it may be too late to save our relationship. I don't know who you were with last night and I don't want to know, but I hope it was someone who gave you the love you deserve. I don't know if I'm worthy of you anymore." At this, he paused, and Daria recognized the look he got when he was fighting back tears of his own. 

"So, this is what I've decided. I think we should seperate for a while. I've packed a few things; Jesse's agreed to let me stay with him. I think we should give it a month. After that, I'll come back, whatever we decide, I'll either move back in or -- we'll talk about divorce terms." 

Daria could only nod silently, a single tear rolling down her cheek. Trent went upstairs and came down with a suitcase, which he took to the door. He kissed her lightly on the forehead, then looked into her eyes and said, "I love you, Daria. I'm sorry for screwing up as badly as I have. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If not, well, I wish you luck, and I hope you're happy with whatever happens." 

Daria was silent while she watched his car pull out and drive off. She was silent while she sat on the couch and cried. And she was silent while she picked up the phone and dialed Tom's number. 


	2. Ramifications

**Chapter 2: Ramifications**

Brrring. 

Brrring. 

Brrring. 

Jane Lane sat up in bed at the ringing sound, hit the snooze button on her alarm clock, and laid on her stomach, putting the pillow over her head. 

Brrring. 

Brrring. 

She sat up again. Her sleep-fogged brain told her it was way too early to get up, and she abruptly realized that the noise wasn't her alarm, it was her phone. Blearily, she rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock: it was 6:30 AM. Who could be calling her at this hour? 

She picked up the phone. "Yo, this is Jane Lane. Whoever you are, this had better be important because people who wake me up this early get put on my assassin's list." 

"Jane?" 

"Daria?! Is everything all right? You of all people should know that I don't wake up before 1-" 

"Trent left me." 

Stunned silence. Jane suddenly couldn't think of anything to say. 

"Jane? Are you there?" 

Jane shook her head briskly, trying to clear out the last of the brain fog as well as absorb this latest bit of information. "Um, Daria? Are you joking? Because if you are, this really isn't the best time for--" 

"No. Trent left me. I'm sitting alone in our house. Would you like to come over? I need to talk to someone." 

Jane blinked. Daria was utterly serious. But how could this have happened? Her brain still wasn't registering things completely, but she could tell that Daria needed to talk to someone urgently. If she didn't, she might do something drastic. "Hold on. I'll be right over." Pulling on an outfit and grabbing her car keys, Jane ran out to her car, fervently hoping she was awake enough to drive. The Lane family tendency toward narcolepsy was a legendary thing. 

~~~~~~ 

Daria Morgendorffer Lane hung up the phone and sat on the couch. She was still in shock over what had happened. Trent had left her, and in a way she had no one to blame but herself. But how was she going to deal with this? 

Yawning, she lay down on the couch. She had been up early this morning, and it wasn't as if she had had much sleep last night... 

~~~~~~~~ 

She was floating, flying, up in the clouds. She had no worries, no cares, no problems; everything was just wonderful. She remembered feeling like this when Trent proposed to her... where was Trent, anyway? 

There. She saw a familiar figure sitting on a cloud with his back to her. Moving at the speed of thought, she sped over to him, wanting to fly into his open arms...but when he turned around, she gasped. It was Tom. 

"Daria?" Tom looked at her, hands held out to meet her outstretched arms. She pulled away instinctively. But the way he was looking at her...he loved her...she realized she loved him too. "Daria! Please, let me make you happy..." Slowly, she reached out to him... 

"No! Daria, don't! Please, I'm sorry, I don't want to lose you..." Daria turned, and saw Trent standing there, with that look on his face that always made her melt... "Daria, I love you!" 

Her mouth started to form the words "I love you" in reply, but then Tom came between them, gazing into her eyes. "Daria. You must choose. We both love you. Daria. Daria? Daria!" 

~~~~~~~~ 

Daria's eyes flew open. That wasn't Tom's voice...Jane's face slowly swam into focus. "Jane?" Her voice was like a croak. She tried to speak, but her throat felt dry as sandpaper. "Water?" she finally managed to get out. 

"Sure." Jane went over to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, which Daria took from her gratefully and swallowed in three gulps. 

"Thanks." 

"No problem." Jane looked at her concernedly. "What were you dreaming about? You were tossing and turning, calling out Trent's name, but then you mentioned Tom, and something about a choice..." A synapse connected in her brain and her face lit up with understanding. "Tom has something to do with this, doesn't he?" 

Not trusting herself to speak, Daria nodded. 

Jane smirked. "That jerk," she said affectionately. "Over a decade since our big blow-up and he's still messing up your life. He needs a new hobby." 

"Yeah." Daria almost smiled. Count on Jane's wacky sense of humor to cheer her up. 

"So, what's going on exactly? Give your best friend Jane all the gruesome details. I haven't had a chance to talk to you like this for a while." 

Daria thought for a minute, deciding where to begin. "Well, it probably all started with the baby." 

Jane remembered. "The one you lost?" 

"Yeah. Well, things started going downhill between Trent and me from there. He got wrapped up in his work, and so did I...we didn't even sleep together for over a year. We barely even talked, and he was just indifferent to me most of the time. I tried to talk to him about how things were going, but you know how hard it is for me to talk about stuff like that, and when he wouldn't even try, I just figured, what's the point?" 

Jane was puzzled. "I thought you were getting more distant, but I didn't realize how bad things were. Why didn't you tell me you guys were having problems?" 

Daria shrugged. "I dunno. I think it was partially because I thought you'd try to go in and fix things for us, and I thought it was my problem. I wanted to solve it myself." She laughed depreciatingly. "Did a wonderful job, too." 

"Unfortunately, that does sound like me," Jane said ruefully. "Look how far my whole yenta thing got you guys. Although I don't think I'm going to forgive you for not letting me have the chance to kick some sense into my brother...I still have my old boots, you know. But what happened? I'm assuming something acted as a catalyst. Trent isn't the type to just up and leave for no real reason." 

Daria smiled slightly, thinking of the Doc Martens hiding in the back of her own closet. "Well, last night, I wanted to get out of the house, so I went to the grocery store, even though we didn't need anything. And guess who I ran into there." 

"Tom." It was a statement, not a question. 

"Right. He asked how things were--he really was concerned!--and considering that I was already emotionally fragile that night, I almost broke down right there in the store. He saw that something was the matter and got me out of the store and to his house. And I told him how things were, and he told me that he still cared about me, and, well..." 

To Jane's surprise, she saw what was unmistakably a blush creeping up Daria's face as the brown haired girl averted her eyes. Jane raised an eyebrow. "You slept with him, didn't you?" 

Daria nodded once more. 

Jane suddenly giggled. 

Daria looked annoyed. "It isn't really funny." 

Jane smirked. "No, I was just thinking, considering it's been over 10 years since you two went out...it sure took you long enough!" 

Daria rolled her eyes. "Trust you to find my personal conflicts funny, Jane." 

Jane became more serious. "Did you use protection?" 

Daria's blush became more pronounced. "Don't you remember what the doctors said? It's not very likely that I could have kids again, Jane." 

"Oh. Right. Just trying to look out for my best friend, you know. So what happened with Trent?" Jane tried to keep Daria's embarrassment from becoming any more acute. 

"Well, when I came home this morning, it was early. I guess I was half-hoping I could sneak in and claim that I had come home late last night. But when I opened the door, Trent was waiting for me. He had prepared a special dinner the night before, complete with a flower arrangement, for our anniversary. He wanted to try to patch things up...except I never came home." 

"Ouch. That must have hurt." 

"He told me that when I didn't come home, he realized that he'd been too much of a jerk to fix." Daria's voice almost broke; she was getting to the hard part. "He-he said he still loved me, but that we should separate for awhile. He's staying with Jesse for a month, and he said that he hoped I could find it in my heart to love him again. And then he left." 

"Was that when you called me?" 

"Well, actually I tried calling Tom first, but he wasn't home yet. Which was understandable, considering that he had just dropped me off a few minutes ago." 

"Hmmm. By all rights I should get mad at you for not calling me first, but I suppose I can let it slide this time, considering I haven't been in your life much recently." Jane sighed. "So what are you going to do now?" 

Daria proceeded to tell Jane about her dream. "I'm no expert at dream interpretation, but it's pretty obvious what my subconscious is telling me -- I'm going to have to choose one of them or I'll lose them both." 

"Hmm." Jane eyed her critically. "So which one do you love?" 

Daria shook her head. "I don't know. I was happy with Trent before things started going downhill, but last night with Tom...it was just amazing, you know? But it could have just been a rebound effect from being abstinent for so long." 

Jane grinned; she'd had a few of those. "I know what you mean. You're still going to have to choose, though." 

"I've decided to procrastinate that choice for now. I need some time to figure out my feelings on the issue." 

"Well, it's your life." Jane stretched. "But let me tell you, these types of situations don't usually get any better with time. Quite the opposite." She had to pause as a huge yawn escaped her. "Unfortunately, I'm speaking from experience here." 

"Yeah. I know. I won't put it off too long." 

"Great." Jane ran her fingers through her short hair, a habit she'd picked up a few years ago. "Would you perhaps like to stay with me for a bit? With all this emotional havoc-wreaking going on in your life, I don't know if you should be left alone." 

Daria looked at her gratefully. "Thanks, Jane. I really appreciate it." 

"No problemo. I don't want you to get depressed all by yourself and end up slitting your wrists or anything like that. I care about you, and besides, where would I be without your occasional sarcastic view of life? So take your time about this. Follow your heart. Make sure you'll be happy. End mushy best friend crap." 

Daria actually did smile that time; briefly, but it was there. "Thanks again. Are you busy today?" 

Jane looked at her watch. "Well, I have an art show opening tomorrow night, but otherwise I'm free for the weekend. How about some pizza for breakfast?" 

"Sure. Could we bring Tom along?" 

Jane smirked. "That'd be great. I haven't had a chance to insult him in years." 

Daria felt slightly better. "I knew you'd approve." 

~~~~~~~ 

"So what happened, man?" Jesse was confused; he'd always thought of Trent and Daria as a rock-solid couple, one of the few constants in life. "I mean, why did you leave?" 

Trent sighed and massaged his temples gently. Jesse was a good friend, but he could be annoying sometimes, and Trent could feel the beginnings of a tension headache forming. "I don't want to talk about it, Jess. It's between Daria and me." 

"Oh. She slept with someone else." Jesse nodded understandingly. 

Trent's head snapped up. For someone who was even more oblivious then Trent himself had been as a teenager, Jesse sure was astute sometimes. "What makes you think that?" 

Jesse grinned, knowing he had caught Trent off-balance. "I've seen it so many times at work it's not even funny. Whenever a guy's having problems with his girlfriend or wife that he doesn't want to talk about, she's either slept with someone else or moved out. Or both. They don't usually want to talk about it because they're afraid the other guys will get on their backs about not being able to keep a woman satisfied." 

Trent started rubbing his temples again. "Well, are you going to get on my back?" 

"Nah. It looks like you're already punishing yourself far worse than I ever could." 

"Thanks," Trent said dryly. He looked at Jesse for a moment. "Since when did you become this observant? You always were even more oblivious than me." 

"I used to be. But when you're in the construction business, you have to be observant about people. If one of the crew isn't working at peak performance, it can cause accidents. And accidents in construction often prove fatal." 

Trent nodded, then grimaced as pain shot through his temples. "Do you have any asprin?" 

"Sure." Jesse got up from the couch and went to get some. "You know, I happen to know a chick who likes musicians. Maybe you guys could hook up sometime." 

"Jesse, I think you're forgetting something. I'm married. Separated, yes, but married. I'm not exactly in a position to consider another relationship at the moment." 

"Hey man, who said anything about a girlfriend? She just likes to have fun. And seeing as your wife already did, maybe you should take a turn." 

"Maybe. I'll think about it." Trent had no intention of following up on his words; they were more to get Jesse off his back than anything else. He could never really do anything like that to Daria. 

Could he? 

~~~~~~~ 

"So Trent left you, huh?" Tom leaned forward, his elbow on the table, cupping his chin in his hand. "I'm sorry to hear it." 

"No you aren't." Daria wasn't going to take any B.S. from Tom, no matter how well- meaning. "Inwardly, you're ecstatic. You're just not showing it for my benefit." 

Tom laughed. "You know me too well, Daria." He spread his hands on the table, examining his nails. "I'm glad you're staying with Jane, though. You shouldn't be alone with this, and if you were staying with me, I'm sure it would be hard for you to make an objective decision." 

Daria looked at him disbelievingly. "Like you really want me to." 

Tom shrugged. "Much as I would like you to live with me, you need to make the decision on your own. Otherwise I would just wonder if you only were with me because I happened to be in the right place at the right time." 

Daria half-smiled at that. "Some people would say that that's all there is to life." 

Tom looked at her intently. "I don't agree. There's plenty more...true love, for one thing." 

Daria looked back. "Do you believe in soulmates?" 

"I do." His gaze was unwavering. 

Daria felt torn. Part of her wanted him to say that they were soulmates, and part of her didn't. She opened her mouth to ask when -- 

"Pizza, anyone?" Jane had arrived with their order, balancing a pizza in one hand, 3 plates and cups in the other one, as well as a pitcher of root beer on her head. 

The charge of the moment was broken as their attention shifted. "Hey, food. Let's eat." Tom grabbed the root beer before Jane's balancing show turned into an impromptu juggling act. "I didn't know you could do that, Jane," he said. 

Jane smirked, setting the pizza on the table and putting the plates in front of their places. "A little trick I picked up from my brother. He loves freaking out the resturaunt's staff." 

"Oh, is that why he was banned from Pizza Palace? I was wondering," Daria asked as Tom started pouring the root beer. Daria tore the end off the paper cover of her straw and blew into it, hitting Tom squarely on the nose with the rest of the wrapper. 

"I didn't know you could do that either, Daria." Tom looked surprised; it wasn't like Daria to do something goofy like that. 

"You learn something new every day," Daria said, with a smirk to rival Jane's. "You can thank my best friend for teaching me that." 

Jane put on a "Who, me?" expression, and Tom laughed. "All right, all right, I can't compete with the talents of two beautiful women. What say we eat now?" 

"Great." Jane grabbed a slice of meat lovers' pizza and sat down. "Yum yum. Processed innards of cows and pigs. Loaded with enough cholesterol for 3 heart attacks." 

"Sounds like a typical American lunch." Tom took a slice for himself. "Almost makes me feel like a high-schooler again." 

Daria and Jane rolled their eyes simultaneously. "Don't remind me," Jane said. "Sometimes I think Pizza King is the only thing that got me through high school. That and my art and Daria, of course," she amended. 

"Nice to know where I sit on your list of priorities, Jane," Daria quipped, taking a bite out of her own slice. 

"Anytime." Jane took another bite. "If there's one thing to be said for New York, they sure know how to make good pizza." 

~~~~~~~~ 

Some time and several slices later, the three friends decided to get up and walk around. Jane stopped at an art store, dashing inside with a quick "Be right back" and leaving Tom and Daria on the sidewalk waiting for her. 

Tom looked around for something to break the awkward silence. "Nice day." 

"Yeah." Daria looked around at the city, or what you could see of it through the haze. "Needs to rain though...keep the smog down." 

"Oh that's easy enough to fix. Just take a picnic lunch to a park. Works like a charm." Tom smiled. 

Daria raised an eyebrow. "This sounds like the voice of experience talking." 

"It is. Myrna used to say that I must have bad picnic karma." 

"Really?" Daria looked at him. "Maybe we should try it sometime." 

Tom put his hands up in a "warding off" gesture. "Oh no you don't. I've been soaked once too many times on these picnic excursions." 

"Oh, but just think, if it doesn't rain you could call Myrna and tell her that the karma was actually hers." 

Tom thought about that. "You know, you might be right. How about next Saturday?" 

Daria shrugged. "Sure. You bring the lunch, I'll pick the place." 

Tom smiled one of his charming smiles at her. "I look forward to it." 

Just then Jane came out of the store, carrying no fewer than 4 bags of supplies. "Sorry that took so long, I was out of --" She saw the look on Daria's face. "What?" 

"Never mind." Daria looked away. It wasn't Jane's interruption that bothered her, so much as the expression on Jane's face. It was the almost identical to the one that Trent got after coming out of a music store. 

~~~~~~~ 

A week later, Daria was still staying with Jane. Work kept her busy for the most part, but she still enjoyed the time she spent with her friend, whom she hadn't had much contact with in recent past. As Daria opened her eyes on this particular morning, however, Jane wasn't anywhere near as high on her list of priorities as getting to the nearest toilet as quickly as possible. 

After most of what was left of last night's dinner had vacated her stomach, Daria rinsed her mouth out and knocked on Jane's door. "Jane?" 

After a minute, the door opened, a bleary-eyed Jane standing there. "Daria, it's only 11--you look terrible." 

Daria shook her head. "I'm not really feeling well. Would you mind if I canceled our lunch date--" Her eyes widened as the last bit of dinner decided to make an encore appearance, and she ran back to the bathroom. 

Jane blinked. She had never known Daria to get sick; she was one of the few people who had been gifted with almost perfect health. She walked over to the bathroom and rapped on the door. "Daria?" The sound of running water was heard, then Daria opened the door. "You most certainly may not cancel our lunch date; however, it seems that it will have to be relocated to here. I believe chicken soup is on the menu." 

Daria smiled weakly. "Thank you, Jane." 

Jane shrugged it off. "What are friends for? As long as it doesn't involve hiking and singing about some idiot named John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt. Or Girl Scouts, for that matter." 

Daria laughed softly and made her way back to the couch bed. "I'm afraid I'm going to be taking up your living room today." 

"Nah, that's ok. I didn't have any hot dates planned anyway. And my harem's out of town." Jane went into the kitchen to start breakfast/lunch. "Speaking of which, weren't you and Tom going to do something today?" 

"Let me think...oh yeah, the picnic. Now I'm going to have to call and cancel. He really must have bad picnic karma." 

"Huh?" 

"Never mind. I'll explain later." Daria picked up the phone and dialed Tom's number. "Hi, Tom?" 

"Daria! Everything all right?" Tom sounded worried. 

"Not exactly. I seem to have woken up with a flu bug. Can we reschedule the picnic?" 

"Sure. It looks like rain today anyway." 

Daria glanced outside at the nearly cloudless sunrise and realized Tom was being nice for her benefit. "Maybe Myrna was right about your karma. Anyway, I'll see how I'm feeling tomorrow." 

"All right. Hope you feel better soon." 

"Bye." Daria hung up, feeling slightly better. 

Jane sauntered in the room, carrying a mug of freshly made chicken soup -- fortunately not on her head this time. "Campbell's Chicken Soup, a la Lane. An old family recipe." 

Daria sniffed it. "Isn't chicken soup supposed to be yellow?" 

Jane shrugged. "Yellow, orange, what does it matter? Chicken soup is chicken soup." 

Daria looked at it distrustfully, but tipped the mug back and drank the entire thing in 3 gulps. "Wha--" She looked around desperately. 

"Here." Jane handed her a large glass of water which she had also been carrying. Daria drank the entire thing without stopping. Once she had finished, she turned on Jane. 

"What the hell was that? Are you trying to kill me?" Daria's throat was burning. 

"Chicken soup with half a bottle of tabasco sauce. Like I said, an old Lane family recipe. The theory is that the tabasco sauce burns all the the cells off the lining of your throat, taking the germs with it. Trent used to feed it to me when I got sick." 

"Either that or it motivates the person to get well as quickly as possible." Daria wiped her mouth and then laid back against the pillows. "Geez, Jane, with you as my best friend, I'll be lucky to survive into middle age." 

"Sshhh. You'll blow my cover." 

~~~~~~~~ 

Daria was in the middle of an afternoon nap when the doorbell to Jane's apartment rang. Not wanting to disturb Daria, whose sleep seemed fitful enough as it was, Jane tiptoed to the door and opened it. There stood Tom, complete with a bouquet of lavender and light purple roses. 

"Hi. I heard someone wasn't feeling well." He spotted Daria. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to disturb her. I'll just leave these here for when she wakes up --" 

Just then Daria's eyelids fluttered open. "Tom?" she croaked, then sat up and took a drink from the cup of water on the table next to her. 

"Hey Daria. I heard you weren't doing so well, so I brought you these." He held out the flowers. 

"Purple roses? Thank you..." Daria's voice trailed off as another image flashed into her mind, one that had been in her dream -- Trent holding a vase of purple roses and saying "Happy Anniversary". Abruptly she didn't feel like talking anymore. She lay down and mumbled something into the pillows. In a moment, she was asleep again. 

"She's not doing too well, as you can see," Jane said, smoothing over the awkward moment. "But I'm sure she'll be grateful once she really wakes up." 

"I understand. Tell her I love her for me when does." Tom turned and went down the stairs. 

~~~~~~~ 

Trent looked around the pub, following Jesse. It looked pretty normal; there were the drunks, the women fending off advances from said drunks, several groups of friends, a heavy metal band playing in the background...not unlike most of the pubs he'd been in. Not that he'd been in many bars recently; after Mystik Spiral broke up and he got married, he hadn't drunk anything stronger than an occasional beer. Daria hadn't liked it when he drank, and besides, it just killed off brain cells anyway... 

"Jesse, my man! How are ya?" A robust, barrel chested man who looked to be in his thirties enthusiastically greeted Jesse and Trent as they sat down at the table. "And you must be Trent! We've heard a lot about you, and any friend of Jesse's is a friend of mine!" 

Jesse performed the introductions. "Trent, this is Mitch, a friend of mine from work. Mitch, this is Trent. We go way back." 

"Great!" Mitch roared. Trent wondered if the man ever spoke in fewer than 80 decibels. "What do you think of the band, Trent?!" 

Trent listened to the bad for a minute...it didn't sound all that different from Mystik Spiral before they broke up. "Not too bad. Sounds a bit like Jesse's and my old band. But I'm sure you've heard all about that." 

"Oh yeah! Mystik Spiral! Great name, too bad you didn't make it! But you're doing all right on your own, or so I've heard!!" 

Trent winced. After a few years of quiet home living, his eardrums weren't prepared to take this sudden onslaught. "Yeah..." Suddenly he glimpsed a familiar face in the crowd. He leaned over to Jesse. "Do you know who that is?" he asked, pointing to her. 

Jesse gave him an odd look. "Don't you remember? That's Myrna. She was at your wedding, man! You know, Tom's wife." 

"Oh, right..." Trent's voice trailed off as he watched her dance with a guy. She looked about Janey's age. Native American, slender, quite pretty in fact... 

"Yo, Trent! Anyone home?" Jesse brought his attention back to the table, where Mitch was laughing uproariously at some joke the girl next to him had told. "Geez, and they call me a space cadet..." 

"Sorry." Trent got up and pushed his chair back; the band had started on a new song and Myrna had gotten rid of her dance partner. He walked over to her, trying to figure out some way to open a conversation without sounding like he was trying to pick her up. "Excuse me..." 

"Trent! How's it going? Haven't seen you in years!" She smiled brightly and downed the shot of whiskey she was holding. 

"Uh..." Trent was thrown off-balance. To the best of his knowledge, he had only met this woman briefly, and had probably exchanged fewer than five words with her in his life. Was he forgetting something...? 

Laughing at his obvious confusion, Myrna explained. "I have an eidetic memory. I never forget a face. If I recall right, we met on your wedding day?" 

"Um, yeah." Trent suddenly felt like he was in high-school again. What was it about this woman that made him feel like an awkward teenager? "How's Tom doing?" 

"Oh, I divorced him more than a year ago. Things just weren't working out." 

Trent stared at her. How could she speak of divorcing someone so casually, as if she was talking about last year's fashion? "Oh...sorry to hear it." 

She waved her hands in a dismissive gesture. "Doesn't matter," she said. "Like I said, things weren't working out. Besides, I think he still had feelings for someone else." 

"Oh, really?" Trent wasn't completely registering the conversation; for some reason, his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. 

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself. Besides, it's fun being single sometimes. More freedom." 

Trent pasted a smile on his face, morbidly wondering if these words were foreshadowing his own future. "Cool. I'm glad that you're so happy." 

"So how's Daria? Tom mentioned that he wanted to get back in touch with her, but so far as I know he never did." 

Taken aback, Trent replied, "Uh, we're...seperated." Funny, how the word suddenly seemed so final when he said it to someone else. 

A look of genuine warmth crossed her face. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear it. I hope things work out." 

"Thanks." Trent looked at his watch, then remembered that he didn't wear one. He looked at a clock behind the bar; it was nearly midnight. "I'd better go find Jesse before he burns this place down." 

She laughed. "Actually, I'll bet that would be an improvement. Here," she scribbled something on a matchbook, "this is my number. Call me up if you want to talk or get together sometime." 

"Ok." Trent pocketed the matchbook absent-mindedly, scanning the crowd for his friend. When he caught sight of a (very) drunk Jesse on the verge of starting a fight, he decided it was time to leave. "See you around," he said to Myrna, and hurried in the direction of the raised voices. 

~~~~~~~ 

Daria woke up feeling much better, minus the fact that her throat was as dry as the Sahara. Grabbing the water by her bedside, she downed what was left in a single gulp and went to the kitchen for more. There she found Jane, whipping up another batch of chicken soup. 

"Oh, you're awake. Good morning to you." 

"Morning?" Daria still wasn't completely awake. 

"Well, it's 12:30 AM, so I guess technically it's morning. More soup?" 

Daria eyed the soup warily. "No tobasco sauce?" 

Jane put on her best angelic smile. "No tobasco sauce. It's even the right color." 

"All right." Daria sat down at the table, while Jane grabbed a bowl and ladled some soup into her dish. "God, what a nightmare." 

"Care to elaborate?" Jane sat down with her own bowl of soup. 

"I don't really remember much. Just something about Trent and I being at a bar, except he went to talk to some other girl. She was really pretty, too. I wanted to stop him and tell him I loved him, but I couldn't move. You know those types of dreams." 

"Yeah. Did he leave with her?" 

"Not that I recall. I think he ended up looking for Jesse, though I don't completely remember." 

"Well, it's not that bad then. Probably just a dream." 

"I hope so." 

They ate their soup in silence then, aside from an occasional slurp. Jane finally broke it. "So if you don't mind my asking...have you decided what you're going to do when the month is up?" 

Daria shook her head slightly. "No. I suppose I could just call him up now and tell him I want a divorce, and the way things are going with Tom, it's beginning to sound like the best option. But--" her voice broke, and she took a deep breath before continuing-- "I just can't bring myself to do it." 

Jane nodded, trying to be understanding. Quite frankly, she was jealous of Daria's situation. Hell, she hadn't even loved two men before. Most of her relationships had been the purely physical type, and there was only one she could think of that she had actually believed might have some potential for long-term. But that one hadn't ended very well...irony of ironies, the guy was now involved with Daria's crisis. 

~~~~~~~ 

Two and a half weeks later, Daria was starting to get worried. She still was getting sick in the mornings, and her period was a week late. She had explained the sickness to Jane as the flu, telling her it was probably the stress from her job and her relationships. But... although the doctors had said it was unlikely she would ever become pregnant again, they hadn't told her it was impossible... 

Get ahold of yourself, Daria. You don't have to freak until you know for sure. She threw aside the book she was reading; she hadn't been able to concentrate anyway. "Jane?" Daria addressed her friend, who was in the process of painting a still life. "Do you want to go to the drugstore with me?" 

"Sure. But what do you need? I thought we already got your flu medicine..." Jane sounded confused. 

"No, it's not that. I think-- well, I don't want to say what I think yet, but let's just say I'm going to need some moral support for this trip." 

Jane rinsed out her brush. "All right. I'm nearly done with this anyway." She upended the brush in a cup and started putting on her shoes. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but if there's something bothering you, I'd like to know about it. You are my best friend, after all." 

"I'd rather show you once I get it." 

"Okay." Jane shrugged. It was something of an unspoken agreement they had with other; no prying. They were both private people. She grabbed her car keys. "Let's go." 

At the drugstore, Jane waited in the car while Daria got whatever it was that she was going to get. When she came out, Jane thought she looked kind of pale. Rolling down the window, she asked, "So, what did you buy?" Wordlessly, Daria handed her the bag, then went around to the other door and got in the passenger's side. 

Jane opened the bag and looked inside. "A pregnancy test kit? But I thought you said--" 

"It was unlikely. They didn't say it was impossible." 

Jane thought for a moment. It did make sense. Daria's mood swings, the morning sickness, the stress... "Well, let's go try this thing out." She backed out of the space and drove back home. 

When they got to Jane's apartment, Daria silently took the bag and went into the bathroom. A few minutes later, Jane rapped on the door. "Well? How did it come out?" 

Daria opened the door. Jane was startled; she looked even paler than before. "I'm pregnant, Jane." 


	3. Revelations & Reactions

**Chapter 3: Revelations & Reactions **

Trent Lane was sprawled in Jesse's guest bed, thinking about his life. God, it was screwed up right now. He was living with his best friend, and his wife was probably living with someone else...he tried not to think about that. It was painful enough acknowledging that he and Daria were seperated, without adding to it by contemplating the possiblities... 

He looked at the clock. 1:30 AM. Damn. He, Trent Lane the Semi-Narcoleptic Musician, couldn't seem to get to sleep these days. Every day was 24 hours closer to The Day...the day he and Daria had agreed on to meet again and either decide to give things another try or discuss divorce terms. But how could she forgive him, after the way he had treated her? Trent's thoughts were bitter, like the cold fall breeze that was blowing outside the window, bringing with it a hint of the autumn that was to come. It was near the end of August, anyway... 

September 2nd. That was The Day. But how would things go? Most of him wanted Daria to forgive him, but there was a small part of him that had enjoyed the freedom of the past month, going to bars with his friend, flirting with different women, although so far he hadn't let it go past that... 

_But Daria had..._

The thought came unbidden to his mind, and although he didn't want to think about it, it wouldn't go away. Daria, his wife, had slept with someone else. On the night of their anniversary, no less. He really couldn't blame anyone but himself, considering the way he had been treating her, but still-- 

Abruptly, he decided to get up and go for a drive, as much to take his mind off these wandering thoughts as anything else. He got dressed quietly, trying to avoid waking Jesse -- his friend was a light sleeper. Concentrating on keeping quiet --as much to keep from thinking about anything else as not disturbing anyone-- he slipped out of the apartment, went down the stairs, and got in his car. 

After starting it and backing out of the parking lot, he thought about where to go. Some places would be closed this late, but this was New York: The city that never sleeps. He cruised the streets aimlessly, hoping to avoid the thoughts that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Absently, he grabbed a Cake CD from the glove compartment and popped it in the player, which was on random play. Predictably, the first song that came on was "Daria". Aw hell, why argue with fate, he thought, and started singing along with the lyrics. 

Daria  
I won't be soothed  
Daria  
I won't be soothed over  
Like, smoothed over  
Like milk  
Silk  
A bedspread, or a quilt  
Icing on a cake  
Or a serene, translucent lake  
Daria  
Daria  
I won't be soothed  
I won't be smoothed 

After the song was over, he still didn't feel any better. He picked up his cell phone and toyed with it with one hand, wondering whether there was anyone he could call this late. He needed to talk to someone...wait a second. He parked the car on the side of the street, unbuckled his seatbelt, and started digging through the pockets of his jeans. There it was. A matchbook, with a number scrawled on it. Myrna's number. He picked up his cell phone and dialed, hoping she was awake. 

On the second ring, Myrna's voice came over the phone. "Hello?" 

"Hey, Myrna? It's Trent." 

"Oh hi Trent! Is everything all right? It seems a little late for a social call..." 

"Uh, I need to talk to someone, and you were the only person I could think of who would possibly still be awake. Are you available?" 

"Sure! No problem. Let me give you directions." 

A few minutes later, Trent parked his car in front of another slightly run-down apartment building. Going up the steps, he knocked on the door, which opened to reveal Myrna, dressed in a low-cut black shirt and blue jeans. "Hi, Trent. Come on in." 

Whoa, she has a nice figure, Trent thought, before immediately quashing that thought. Do you want to throw away everything you and Daria had? Another part of his mind spoke up. Then go right on thinking stuff like that. He tried concentrated on something else, the decor, for instance. Myrna had actually dressed the apartment up quite nicely. "Nice place." 

"Thanks. Most of my friends ask me why I bother when I usually end up moving in a year or two anyway, but I hate living in a dump, you know what I mean?" Myrna went into the kitchen, bringing back a cookie jar. "Want a chocolate chipper?" 

"Sure." Trent took one and bit into it, expecting the stale taste of a factory-made cookie. Instead, he was surprised. "Wow, these are good." 

"Thanks. I like to make cookies when I don't have much else to do." She took one for herself before putting the cookie jar on the table and sitting down on the couch. "So, what's going on?" 

Trent sat down on a chair. "Well, it's mostly my marriage that's been preying on my mind. The same thoughts keep running through my head, until I feel like I might go insane. And the worst of it is, I can't get to sleep because of them." 

She nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, that used to happen to me sometimes. Still does." She took a bite of her cookie, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. "Would you like to tell me about them? I've found that sometimes talking to someone else about it can help relieve the pressure on your mind." 

Trent thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt." He told her about the marraige problems he and Daria had had, how they were seperated now, and his worries about The Day. 

"Hmm." She thought for a moment. "I'm sorry to hear that things aren't going so well. But why can't you talk to Jesse about it?" 

"Well, Jesse's great and everything, but he's just such a space cadet, you know? All he'd say was that I should quit moping about it and go out and get laid." 

"Ah, the typical male "Sex solves everything" philosophy. I've tried that before." She got up, having finished her cookie, and dusted the crumbs off her lap. 

"Does it work?" Trent asked in spite of himself. 

"Well, it doesn't solve things," she said, going over behind his chair, "but it does make life more bearable sometimes." She started giving him a shoulder rub, her touch gentle as she worked out the knots in his shoulder blades. Her long black hair fell down past his face as she leaned over. Trent felt himself melting and decided he needed to either make a decision or get out of there while the getting was good. 

Standing up rather suddenly, he turned to face her. "Uh...thanks for the cookie. And thanks for talking with me. I guess I just need to think things through." He grabbed his jacket and headed for the exit. 

She smiled blithely; if she was disappointed, she didn't show it. "Anytime. And Trent?" 

"Yeah?" He looked over his shoulder. 

"If you ever need some...comforting...well, my door is open." 

Trent smiled; she really was lovely. "Thanks again. I'll keep that in mind." 

~~~~~~~ 

Daria Morgendorffer Lane woke up feeling nauseous. She immediately shut her eyes and wished she could go back to the blissful oblivion of sleep, but her stomach had other ideas. She got up and quickly headed for the bathroom. 

After her stomach's contents had emptied themselves out, she flushed the toilet and sat down on it, her head in her hands. She was pregnant. Even though she had found out almost a week ago, she was still attempting to wrap her mind around the fact. God, was she pregnant. She got the worst morning sickness of anyone she had ever known, which figured, considering the fact that she normally had excellent health. It had been in remission for the past week or so, but apparently it had come back with a vengeance. 

She didn't know what she was going to do. First of all, how would she tell Trent? After she had lost their baby, the doctors had told her she probably wouldn't be able to concieve again, yet she had. Unfortunately, with a different man. She had no idea how Trent would take it. He had wanted their kid, but would he want a baby that was genetically Tom's? 

Which brought her to the next problem. How would Tom take it? She hoped that she didn't have much to worry about there; Tom wasn't the type that would leave her just because she was pregnant. But what if she decided she wanted to stay with Trent, and Trent didn't want her? 

Finally, she decided she would talk it over with Trent. She would be moving back into their house today; tomorrow was the day they had agreed to talk about things. She would have to see how Trent felt before she decided who she would ultimately choose. Because, quite frankly, she loved them both. She just didn't know what she was going to do. 

As her thoughts completed their circle, she heard a rapping noise on the door. "Daria? Everything all right in there?" Jane's voice filtered through the crack between the door and the wall. 

Getting up, Daria opened the door. "Morning sickness is back, Jane." She put her hand on the doorframe; she was feeling slightly dizzy. 

"Oh, dear." Jane was worried about her friend; Daria got the worst morning sickness that she had ever seen in any of her girl friends. "Do you still want to move back in today?" 

Daria got herself a glass of water. "Yeah. I can handle things on my own. Besides, I have to work things out with Trent tomorrow. And there's nothing I'm looking forward to more than breaking the news to him that I'm carrying Tom's baby." She paused as she took a drink of water. "Except perhaps getting burned at the stake for adultery." 

Jane smiled. "Aw, c'mon Daria, humanity has come farther than that." 

Daria was deadpan. "Tell that to the girl I saw in the dumpster the other day." 

Jane grimaced. "All right, so maybe we haven't. But look on the bright side...at least it wasn't you in the dumpster." 

Daria gave Jane a look. "I feel so much better now. I think I'll go out and sing about how wonderful I'm feeling and how lucky I am and how beautiful the day is." She pretended to look at her watch. "When's the next stake burning, anyway? I'd like to sign up." 

Jane threw her hands up. "All right, I give up, you win. I won't try to cheer you up any more. Do you need help packing?" 

"No, I got everything done last night." 

There was an awkward silence while Jane surveyed Daria. She looked slightly pale from her renewed morning sickness, but there wasn't any particular reason she couldn't manage on her own. Jane finally asked a question, as much to break the silence as anything else. "So have you decided?" 

"About Trent? About Tom? About whether I'm going to get a divorce? I have so many decisions to make it's not even funny." 

Jane winced; that wasn't the right way to go about asking this. It was a tender subject. "I meant, have you decided what you're going to do with the baby?" 

Daria shrugged. "It's Tom's baby too. His opinion should be a factor in what happens. And considering the fact that he doesn't even know it exists right now, I don't think I should make that particular decision yet. Besides, I'm not sure if I could live with myself if I had an abortion. It would be too much like...squandering a second chance." 

Jane cocked her head to the side slightly. "Don't get mad at me for asking this, but do you think that's the right reason to keep it?" 

Daria was annoyed. "How should I know? I've never done this before." 

Jane shook her head; this wasn't going anywhere. "I mean, are you going to be able to take care of it with your life the way it is? Will you feel guilty because of the circumstances of its conception, and perhaps unconsiously project that on the baby? That's a pretty big responsibility for a kid to bear, you know." 

"Well, for one thing, I plan on having my life semi-sorted out by the time it becomes an issue, Jane. And for another thing, is this really your business?" 

"I don't know. I guess I'm just worried. Come on, let's get your stuff into the car." Jane decided this conversation could wait until Daria wasn't feeling so defensive. 

Eventually, they got everything packed into Daria's car and drove off, Jane following in her own car, which was plastered with "I Love Art" bumper stickers as well as window decals from no fewer than 3 different art schools. When they got to Daria's house, Jane helped her unload and went inside to start some coffee. 

"So how do you plan on telling him?" Jane asked as she hunted for a coffee filter. 

"Well, I thought that I'd ask him to sit down, give him something to drink, and then tell him that I'm leaving him for a career as an exotic dancer somewhere. Just avoid the whole thing." Daria sounded completely serious. 

Jane almost choked; somehow she couldn't imagine Daria as an exotic dancer. "Seriously, Daria." 

Daria came into the kitchen and showed Jane where the coffee filters were. "Seriously? I have no clue. Maybe you can tell me." 

Jane shook her head as she scooped out some coffee. "I have no experience whatsoever in these matters, my friend. You're on your own." 

"Darn. And I was hoping you'd encourage me in my new chosen career." Daria leaned back against the counter, sighing. "I guess I'll have to do things on my own." 

Jane smiled. "You've always managed so far." 

Daria rolled her eyes. "I'm just hoping tomorrow doesn't prove to be the exception to the rule." 

~~~~~~~ 

The next morning, Daria woke up feeling slightly better than she had the previous one, although she did have a sudden urge to clean something. She made her bed, then cleaned her room, grabbed a duster and started dusting the house. After that was finished, she cleaned the bathroom and started lunch. With nothing to do except think until Trent got there, her mind turned toward what Jane had said. What was she going to do with the baby? And should she really keep it just because she might not get another chance? And what about Tom's feelings on the issue? Around 1:00 in the afternoon, the doorbell rang, interrupting her thoughts. She got up and opened the door. 

Trent stood there, suitcase in hand. "Hey, Daria." 

"Hi. Come in." Daria moved aside to allow him room to enter. He stood there looking at her, no emotion showing in his face. She kept hers equally impassive. 

"So..." Trent tried to think of something to break the tense silence. "Where've you been? I tried to call you." Great, he thought. Just make it sound like you're accusing her within the first five minutes. 

She seemed unruffled, however. "I was staying with Jane. Would you like some coffee?" 

Trent mentally smacked himself. Of course she would have the sense to stay with her friend, why would she live alone? "Sure." 

Daria went into the kitchen to make coffee. Damn, how am I going to tell him? she thought. This isn't going to be easy. "Coffee will be ready in a minute," she called. 

He came into the kitchen. "Daria?" 

"Yes?" 

"I just want to tell you again how sorry I am about...you know...everything." 

Daria fought the urge to cry. _Damn mood swings_. "It's all right, Trent." She went back to making the coffee. "I have something to tell you." She figured there was no point in beating around the bush. 

"What?" Trent looked as if he was mentally preparing himself for the worst. Oh, if only he knew... 

"I think you should be sitting down." She handed him a mug of the finished coffee and sat down at the table. 

"All right." He sat down across from her. "So what's on your mind?" 

She closed her eyes, took a deep, steadying breath, then let it out. "I'm pregnant, Trent." 

Trent stared at her. Why did she look so sad? ...then it hit him. "It's not mine, is it." It was a statement, not a question. 

She shook her head no. "No...it's not." She looked at the table, tracing the wood grain with her finger. 

Trent's mind was whirling. His wife was pregnant. It was what he had wanted, and yet...he suddenly didn't want it. What--? How--? He couldn't seem to form a complete thought, much less a coherent sentence. Finally he got one word out. "Whose?" 

Daria looked up at him, and he was startled to see a tear running down her cheek. "Tom's." 

Tom. That bastard. Trent's mind abruptly stopped whirling. He got up and pushed his chair back. "I-I have to go." 

Daria looked up at him, hurt and pain written all over her face. "Trent, please...don't leave." 

He couldn't take it. "I have to go," he repeated, and turned and nearly ran out the door, suitcase in hand. 

And, unseen behind him, Daria put her head in her arms and cried. 

~~~~~~~ 

Trent's hands gripped the steering wheel until the knuckles turned white. He only wished the steering wheel was Tom's neck. Damn. How could that jerk have slept with Daria? She was his wife, dammit, HIS WIFE!! He pounded on the dashboard in frustration. What was he going to do? 

Food. A rational part of him said he needed food. All right, he would get food. He pulled into a McDonalds, went in and ordered a meal. Taking his tray to one of the plastic seats, he stared blankly at it, trying to remember what it was for. The same rational part of him was telling him to eat the burger, but he suddenly wasn't hungry. He grabbed a bag, tossed the burger and fries into it, and went out the door, taking a sip of the Coke while he was at it. 

He got back in his car but didn't start it. Instead he tossed his bag into the passenger's seat and leaned his head against the wheel. His mind was whirling again, he didn't know where to go or what he was supposed to do... 

Abruptly his eyes fell on the matchbook, which he had dropped on the floor of the car a few nights ago. Myrna would know. She was Tom's ex-wife, after all. She would know where Trent could reach him, maybe even where he lived, so Trent could go in and get his hands around Tom's neck or head or waist or other part of his anatomy-- 

Calm down, the same damned rational part of him said. It wouldn't be any use trying to talk to someone in this state. He started the car, breathing deeply and eventually calming down to a reasonable point. Backing out of the lot, he drove to Myrna's house. Might as well see if she really meant that about her door being open. 

~~~~~~~ 

Daria was unsure how long she sat there after he left, but eventually her stomach told her it was time to eat something. She had been too nervous to eat breakfast, and her stomach was (loudly) reminding her of that fact. She got up woodenly and opened the refrigerator. Not much that looked appetizing at the moment. Closing the fridge, she checked the freezer. Frozen lasagna. Comfort food. Daria pulled it out and stuck it in the microwave. The smell reminded her of her teenage years. 

After devouring the entire pan of lasagna, she looked in the freezer again, pulling out half a quart of chocolate ice cream. She ate that too, all the while trying to get her thoughts in some semblance of order. Finally she pulled out her notepad --her continual source of security-- and wrote down the facts of her situation. 

1.) I am pregnant with Tom's child. 

2.) I am currently married to Trent, although the way things are going, that could change in the near future. 

3.) I have not told Tom that I am pregnant yet. 

4.) I have told Trent; he couldn't take it and ran out on me. 

5.) Logically, the next thing to do would be to talk to Tom about this and see how he reacts. 

6.) If he runs out on me too I swear I will wring his scrawny neck. 

Feeling slightly better, Daria put the notebook away, got up, and went to wash her face. She picked up the phone and dialed Tom's number. 

"This is Tom Sloane of Sloane, Inc." 

"Tom? This is Daria. Are you busy right now?" 

"Actually, I was just about to go eat lunch. Would you like to come?" 

"Yes. I need to talk to you about something." 

"Uh-oh. Should I be worried?" 

_Yes._ "No, not yet," she said. 

"All right. I'll be there in a bit." 

~~~~~~~ 

Tom got into his car and started it. Although Daria had said not to worry, he was slightly worried. She hadn't been using her emotionally-overwhelmed voice, but she had sounded kind of strange. He hoped she was all right. If that Trent bastard had hit her or hurt her in any way, he swore he would kill him... 

Calm down, he told himself. She's a grown woman, she can take care of herself. Why are you so worried about her? 

_Because you love her, you idiot..._

Where did that thought come from? And did he? 

_Well duh..._

Tom shook his head. He hated arguing with himself; he always ended up losing. And now that he thought about it, it was true--he really did love her. And from the sound of it, things hadn't gone too well with Trent, which meant that she was available... 

Feeling much more cheerful, he pulled up into Daria's driveway. She was waiting for him outside her door. He got out and opened the car door for her, shutting it after she got in. He went back around to the driver's side and got in himself. "So, do you want to eat first or talk first?" 

Even after the lasagna and chocolate ice cream, Daria was ravenous. "Eat. Definitely." 

"All right. Pizza ok?" 

Daria thought for a moment. "Actually, I think I'd like some Chinese." 

"Chinese?" Tom was momentarily confused. As a teenager, Daria had hated Chinese food. But maybe her tastes had changed..."I know a great little place downtown. Is that all right?" 

Daria shrugged; she suddenly didn't really feel like talking. "Sounds good." 

As Tom drove, he glanced sideways at Daria more than a few times. She was acting kind of listless and tired; it worried him. She was probably still fighting off that flu bug she had come down with a couple of weeks ago, he decided. "Are you feeling all right?" 

She shrugged again, staring out the window. 

Tom realized she wasn't feeling talkative and drove the rest of the way in silence, although he was itching to know what had happened with her and Trent, as well as what was on her mind. But he knew from old as well as recent experience that she wouldn't tell him if he pried; she would have to open up on her own. 

When they got to the resturaunt, Daria sat down across from him and traced a pattern with her finger on the tabletop. She didn't look up until they ordered, and even then she wouldn't meet his eyes. He contented himself with watching her downturned face and hair. She finally looked at him, saying, "What?" 

Tom gave her his heart-melting smile. "I was just thinking about how beautiful you are." 

Daria blushed and looked away again. Tom often caught her off-guard. It was one of the things she found endearing about him, that he could get through her shell in ways no one else could. "Thank you." 

Eventually the waitress came with their meals. Daria had ordered a large meal, and immediately began inhaling it. Tom watched in amazement as she finished the entire plate in less than 15 minutes. 

Noticing Tom's stare, Daria shrugged slightly. "Um...I woke up hungry this morning and can't seem to eat enough. I already had a pan of lasagna and half a quart of ice cream." 

Tom laughed. "You never cease to amaze me, Daria." He handed her his napkin; she had spilt some sauce on her sweater. "So, can you tell me the big news now?" 

Daria's mood took an abrupt downswing. Most people couldn't have seen it, but Tom was a businessman; he had trained himself to notice slight changes in facial expression and posture. "I'm not sure I can say it. When I told Trent, it...didn't go well." 

"Really?" Tom wondered again what had happened, but decided it could wait. "Well, I promise I won't run out on you." 

Her posture stiffened slightly; Tom realized that was probably what Trent had done. "Really?" 

"I promise." Tom braced himself. 

Daria sighed and said simply, "I'm pregnant." 

Tom blinked; he hadn't expected this. "What?" 

"Pregnant. Preggers. With child. Knocked up. A little bun in the oven." Daria closed her eyes and took a breath. "I'm going to have a kid..." 

Now that the initial shock was over, Tom understood. "...and I'm the father," he finished for her. 

She nodded silently, looking at him, searching his face to see what his reaction would be. 

"Well," Tom cleared his throat, he wasn't quite sure how to take this. "I'm not sure whether to say congratulations, or I'm sorry, or what." 

"I don't care. Just don't run out on me. Please. I don't think I could take it." 

"Is that what happened with Trent?" He already knew the answer, but decided he'd rather hear it from her. 

"Yes." 

"Well, if you're going to have my child, I think maybe I'd better tell you something too." Tom took a deep breath; this wasn't going to be easy to say. 

Daria looked at him, slightly surprised. "What?" 

Tom sighed himself. "Your kid has a sister." 


	4. Too Much Love Will Kill You

**Chapter 4: Too Much Love Will Kill You**

My Sick, Sad Life: Diary of a Misery Chick: September 

September 3rd 

Hey, 

Things went better with Tom than they did with Trent, I think. Although I did find out about an interesting bit of his history. Apparently he accidentally knocked up a girl in college and she ended up having the kid. He pays child support, so I don't think he's a jerk or anything, but it sort of shook my image of him. Makes him seem less perfect, I suppose. 

Anyway, I called Jane and talked to her about how things went with both of them. She was really pissed off at Trent, but I can't really blame him...he always was really emotional, and I think I overwhelmed him. Last night he called me up and said that he was sorry for running out on me and wanted to talk, but I was still pissed off and ended up being pretty cold to him. I should probably call and apologize, but I'm not quite sure I'm sorry enough for that yet. 

Jane asked me if I wanted to move back in with her, but I figured I've encroached on her hospitality long enough. Besides, what I really need is to look at this from an uninvolved standpoint, and although Jane is a dear friend, her advice just can't be detached. Trent's her brother and she wants me for a sister-in-law and that's that. Consequently, I'm on my own. For now anyway. But, then, I've never had much of a problem with being alone, so I guess it's probably good for me. 

And seeing as I used up one of my sick days at work for the first time yesterday, I'd really better get to the office before everybody thinks the end of the world has come. 

Daria 

Yawning, Daria shut off the computer. She wished she could have gotten more sleep last night, but she had stayed up until 2 A.M. making up her work, and then hadn't been able to get to sleep. After taking some melatonin she had slept fitfully until 6 A.M., when she woke up and simply couldn't lie still any longer. So she had gotten up and eaten breakfast and made an entry in her diary. She could just tell that today would be a long day at the office, though. 

~~~~~~~~ 

Trent was once again sprawled on Jesse's guest bed, sleepless. At first he had planned on going to Myrna's, but once he had calmed down from the frenzied state he had been in following his discovery about Daria's pregnancy, he realized how that would look to Daria. Because he did want her back. Really, he did. Even if she was pregnant with Tom's kid. He had called her to apologize for running out on her. The conversation kept running through his mind, like a CD on repeat play. 

"Hello?" 

"Daria. It's me, Trent." 

"Yes?" Her voice held no trace of emotion. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Yes?" She seemed to be waiting for more. 

"For running out on you. My mind sort of...overloaded." 

"Yes?" 

She still seemed to be waiting, but he couldn't think of anything else to say, and he was getting impatient. "Dammit, Daria, is that all you have to say to me?" 

"Yes." 

I just set myself up for that one, Trent thought. He calmed himself down. "Will you forgive me?" He prayed that she wouldn't deviate from her pattern. 

There was a pause. Trent wondered if God had even listened. Then, "No. Goodbye, Trent." Click. 

And in that click, Trent heard and felt a portion of his heart being ripped from his body. 

~~~~~~~~ 

Daria looked at her notes, then at her computer screen, then back at her notes. It figured. It was nearly lunchtime and she hadn't written a thing. Taking a deep breath of the filtered office air, she decided that she had better work late to make up for it. She let out her breath in a sigh. Wonderful. But at least it would keep her from returning home, to all the memories that awaited her there... 

"Tough day?" 

Daria whirled her chair around to face her office door. Eric, her friend and co-worker, was standing in the doorway, looking at her over the tops of his glasses. Tall and lanky, with pale, limp hair and no tan to speak of, he looked very much the part of the computer geek, which he actually was -- network administrator, to be more precise. For the most part he made sure that the computers stayed on speaking terms with each other, as well as fixing problems with individual computers. They had become friends over her first year here. Being the new employee, she had gotten a very temperamental machine. 

Daria sighed and turned off her screen. "Hey, Eric." 

Eric smiled. "Hey. I was worried about you yesterday. I thought maybe the end of the world had come already." 

Thinking of something she had written in her diary earlier, Daria smirked. He often shared the same thought patterns as her and Jane. Come to think of it, she had been meaning to introduce the two of them... "Not quite yet. But I have it from a reliable source that it may be soon." 

Eric lifted an eyebrow. "Really? Then you'd better accept my lunch invitation, because there may not be many more left for you to enjoy." 

If Eric had been any other guy, Daria would probably have refused. Male companionship was probably the last thing she wanted right now. However, Eric was gay, not to mention a good friend of hers, so she got up. "Well, it's not like I was doing much anyway. I seem to have a bad case of writer's block." 

"Cheer up. It's the best cure for writer's cramp. Or carpal tunnel, in this day and age." Eric followed her out the door and they left the office. 

"Neither of which I am suffering at the moment, thank you." Daria went through the door that Eric held open for her, and they went out into the brisk fall air, headed for their favorite deli. 

After getting their sandwiches while Daria grabbed a table, Eric looked at her. "Are you ready to tell me what's wrong yet?" 

"Wrong?" Daria looked at him with what she hoped was a questioning look. 

Eric started ticking points off his fingers. "For the past couple of weeks, you've been looking pale and kind of sick. You looked like you were having a dizzy spell early last Friday; I was afraid I would have to run and catch you before you fell. You took the day off yesterday, something you haven't done since you started work here. You weren't doing much today, also something I can realistically claim you've never done in your entire career. And today you didn't even make any sarcastic remarks about how I held the door for you, or got your sandwich for you. You're most definitely not yourself." 

Daria almost laughed. "Eric, you amaze me sometimes. For a gay guy, you sure pay a lot of attention to women." 

He took her seriously, as usual. "Only to my friends. So, what's wrong?" 

Daria took a bite of her sandwich to avoid answering right away. She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell him about her love life. Wouldn't he think she was being silly and shallow? But then, he could probably give her the uninvolved advice she had been looking for. "Well, it's about a guy. Two guys, actually." 

"Ah." Eric chuckled. "I can identify with this." 

Daria did laugh quietly at that. "I'm sure." He didn't seem to think she was being silly, so she proceeded to tell him her story. He seemed a little surprised when she told him about her pregnancy, but he didn't seem to think her problems were trivial. "So right now," she finished, "you, Jane, Tom, and Trent are the only ones who know I'm pregnant. And I have no clue where to go from here." 

"Hm." Her friend looked thoughtful. "You say you love them both?" 

"Yeah." 

"And they both love you?" 

"Well, I think so. Although things are kind of different with each of them. Tom, now he's sweet, but he's very intellectual, and likes to think things through. It's what makes him a good businessman. Whereas Trent is very emotional, and has a tendency to let his heart rule his head, to use an old phrase. Being an intellectual myself, I get along really well with Tom, but Trent sort of balances me out. Except I'm beginning to think we're too different." Her expression became chagrined. "I'm sorry, I feel like I'm going in circles here. Is this making any sense?" 

Eric nodded. "Would you like my advice?" 

Daria shrugged. "It can't mess things up any further than they already are." 

Eric tilted his head, as if trying to look at her from a different perspective. "You are letting your head rule over your heart too much. Instead of over-analyzing things, you should just let yourself be. Your heart knows what it wants; it always does. You just need to listen to it. Take some time and don't rush yourself. Eventually, you will know what to do. 

Daria considered for a moment. "Maybe you're right." She repeated herself softly, thinking it over. "Maybe you're right." 

~~~~~~~~ 

Getting home late that evening, Daria put her purse down and locked the door. She wasn't sure what exactly she had planned, but she had decided she might as well try following her friend's advice. 

She turned on the radio, which was still on one of Trent's favorite classic rock stations. Turning the lights off, she sat down on the couch, closed her eyes, and just let her mind wander for a while, until the lyrics of a song caught her attention. 

  
Too much love will kill you  
If you can't make up your mind  
Torn between the lover  
And the love you leave behind  
You're headed for disaster  
'Cause you never read the signs  
Too much love will kill you  
Every time 

I'm just a shadow of the man I used to be  
And it seems like there's no way out of this for me  
I used to bring you sunshine  
Now all I ever do is bring you down 

How would it be if you were standing in my shoes?  
Can't you see that it's impossible to choose?  
Oh there's no making sense of it  
Everywhere I go I'm bound to lose 

Too much love will kill you  
Just as sure as none at all  
It'll drain the power that's in you  
Make you plead and scream and crawl  
And the pain will make you crazy  
You're the victim of your crime  
Too much love will kill you  
Every time  


As the music went into an instrumental break, Daria abruptly opened her eyes as a stab of pain shot through her midsection. Damn cramps, she thought, flipping the lights back on and getting up to grab an aspirin. 

~~~~~~~~ 

"Hello?" 

"Hey, Myrna." 

"Hi Trent! What's going on?" 

"My wife is pregnant." 

"Really? That's great!" 

"It's not mine." 

"Oh..." Silence for a moment. "Trent, I'm sorry." She sounded sympathetic. 

"And when she told me, I ran out on her." 

"Did you apologize?" 

"I tried to. She wouldn't accept it." 

"Oh," was all she said. 

"Can I stay with you for a while?" 

Another silent moment. "Would your wife mind?" 

"She doesn't want me back." 

"Did she say that?" 

"Um..." Trent thought for a moment. "Not in so many words, but she made it pretty clear." 

"When did she tell you this?" 

"Over the phone last night." 

"Not in person?" 

"No..." Trent was confused. Where was Myrna going with this? 

"Trent, can I ask you something?" 

"Go ahead." 

"Do you still love her?" 

"Well, yes." 

"Do you want her back?" 

"Yeah, I guess I do." 

"Well, let me tell you something. Unless she tells you, face-to-face, that she does not want to see you again, there's still a chance she will forgive you. And if you truly love her, you should do everything you can to get her back. Otherwise I'll just become an escape for you. I know this from experience." 

Experience? "Hm. Maybe you're right." 

"Go and talk to her. Face to face. Tell her how you feel. And then, if she tells you straight out that she doesn't want to see you again, you can come over here and I'll do my best to help and comfort you." 

"Thanks, Myrna, but...why are you telling me this?" 

"Call me a hopeless romantic. If you're in love with her, and there's a chance she still loves you, it shouldn't go to waste. True love is a rare thing." 

~~~~~~~~ 

Trent gripped the steering wheel of his car. This wasn't going to be easy, he knew that much. But Myrna was right. It had to be done. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance she could still love him. And if she rejected him...well, he'd deal with that if it happened. 

He pulled into the driveway of their house and killed the engine. He had no clue what he was going to say, but he certainly hoped he could sort out his thoughts in time to verbalize them. 

Sliding his key into the lock and opening the door, he called her name. "Daria?" 

No answer. 

He came in and closed the door behind himself. "Daria?" he called again. "I need to talk to you." 

Still no answer. Only the noise of the radio softly playing one of his favorite stations. 

Trent was becoming a little alarmed. Where was she? At first he thought she wasn't home, but it wasn't like her to leave the lights and radio on. "Daria?!" he called again, this time more than a little frantically. 

"Trent..." It was a nearly inaudible sound, but somehow he heard it. 

Suddenly, his feet felt like they had weights lifted from them, and he sprinted across the living room, through the dining room and into the kitchen, where he saw Daria collapsed and lying on the floor...in a pool of blood. 

"Daria!" Time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time. He ran to the kitchen phone and dialed nine-one-one. "I need an ambulance at this address quickly! My wife's bleeding to death!" he yelled, before reeling off their address and slamming the receiver down. He got down on his knees next to her then and grabbed her hand. "Daria, I'm sorry...I should never have left you..." 

"Trent." Her voice was little more than a whisper. "You came back for me." 

"Oh, God, Daria, I'll never forgive myself." 

"Trent..." Her voice was becoming even fainter. Trent had to put his ear close to her face to hear. "I...love you. Always...have." 

Then her eyelids fluttered and she lost consciousness. 

~~~~~~~~ 

It had been an extraordinarily long night. 

Trent sat in the chair in the hospital waiting room, eyes closed, head in hands, half asleep yet unable to lose himself fully to the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness. Daria had regained consciousness finally, but she had miscarried again, hemmoraged, and lost a lot of blood in the process. The doctors had told him that her best hope was a blood transfusion, but she had O type blood, which was the hardest kind to match. 

He had sat through most of the night with her, watching the machines monitor her vital signs. Sometimes he had talked to her, apologizing for his behavior, or just about whatever was going on. At other times, he had simply sat there in silence, listening to the beep of the ICU, watching her face for any signs of wakefulness. When she had finally woken up, though, she had weakly asked him to wait outside. Trent had the feeling she didn't like to have him see her like that. 

A familiar voice penetrated the fog that surrounded his brain just then. "I don't care if she said no visitors, dammit! I'm her sister-in-law and her best friend and she can go stick her "no visitors" up her--" 

"I'd like to see her too," said a less familiar voice, effectively cutting Jane off. "I'm her...close friend." 

Trent frowned mentally. He knew that voice, somehow...but didn't he know all of Daria's friends...? 

"Wait a minute. You're Jane Lane?" Trent heard the nurse's voice then. "She said you could see her. I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to wait here." 

The other voice sighed, defeated. "All right." Trent heard him sit down in a chair across the room. 

Suddenly it clicked. That was Tom. The bastard who had caused all this was sitting across the room from him. How could he have the nerve to show up here, after what he had done? Trent moved his fingers apart slightly, enough to see through them. It was hard to believe, not having seen him for years, but there was an older version of Tom Sloane sitting in a chair, flipping absent-mindedly through a magazine. 

Trent got up and walked over to where he was sitting, not sure what he was going to say or do. "Tom." 

Tom looked up at him. "Yes. May I help you?" 

Then Trent did something totally out of character. 

He punched Tom. 

He wasn't sure how it happened, but all of a sudden he felt a surge of energy and his fist connecting with Tom's face. There was a cracking sound and Tom's nose was suddenly bleeding. Tom looked up at him with confusion and more than a little hostility. "I'm sorry, have we met?" 

Part of Trent was amazed that he was capable of this, but most of him was beyond the reach of rational thought. Things were out of control, and he needed a scapegoat. Feeling more anger and adrenaline surge through him, Trent grabbed the lapels of Tom's expensive business suit and hauled him to his feet. "HOW could you DO this to MY WIFE?!" he yelled, shaking him for emphasis. 

Tom pushed him away and swung at him, connecting with the side of his head. Trent kneed him in the stomach, and from there things degenerated into a brawl where all he knew was that he wanted to get his hands around Tom's neck and squeeze or claw or bite or severely hurt him-- 

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" he heard another voice yell. 

Abruptly Trent came to his senses. He picked himself up off the carpet, all thoughts of the fight or Tom leaving him. "Janey?" Trent said urgently, going over to her. She looked pale, like she had been crying. "How is she? Is she okay? What's going on?" 

Jane looked at him, fresh tears in her eyes. She suddenly wrapped her arms around him, sobbing quietly into his shirt. As one, he and Tom looked from her weeping form to the grim-faced doctor standing in the doorway. 


	5. The Veiled Moon

**Chapter 5: The Veiled Moon**

A sensation of floating, drifting, flying... 

A tug at her solar plexus. A silver cord of some sort emanating from the middle of her chest. Anchoring her to something. Something she doesn't want to be attached to. 

A figure, lying prone on a bed. Dead? No, asleep (in a coma). Who could it be? 

Looking closer. It's a mirror image of herself. Or actually, herself, but not in the mirror like she's always seen it. Kind of a strange feeling, really. 

The cord is sick. Pulsing, but only slightly. Frayed in some places (can a living cord be frayed?). Glowing only dimly. Needs batteries... 

Voices near her. A feeling of annoyance; hadn't she said no visitors (where was she)? She didn't want people seeing her this vulnerable (why was she vulnerable?), especially when she's asleep (if she's asleep, how can she hear voices? Dreams never do make sense). 

People nearby. A medium-sized man in a white coat with a clipboard and a stethoscope. Looks like a doctor. A tall, black haired man with an arm around a slightly shorter black haired woman. They look like each other (brother and sister?). Another man standing a little apart from the two; longish brown hair, a bloody nose, and a briefcase...probably a businessman. Looks like he's been fighting. All three of them look sad; the woman is crying. 

Words are distorted. She can't understand them. Concentrate...the doctor is speaking. 

"She's lost too much blood. If she doesn't get a transfer within the next few hours, she'll die." Who is he talking about? The woman looks fine. Sad, but fine. 

"Have you called the blood bank?" The dark haired man has a deep, purring voice and a worried expression (what's the matter?). 

"Yes, but O type blood is tricky," the doctor says. "You see, the advantage to it is that it doesn't have any antigens, which means any patient can receive it without the body rejecting it. Unfortunately, the reverse is also true; any other type of blood will be rejected by a person who has O type. Consequently, the blood banks are in constant need of it. I'm afraid there aren't any with enough O type blood that can get here fast enough." 

"Then she's going to die?" The woman speaks, and starts crying again. Why is she so sad? Who's going to die? 

The doctor's head moves from side to side. "I'm afraid it doesn't look very good at the moment. Unless we can get someone with O type blood to volunteer for an emergency transfer." 

The taller man shakes his head. "Janey and I both have B type." 

The doctor looks sad now. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lane." (Isn't that her last name? Common name...) "I truly am. I wish I had better news." 

The brown haired man, who has been quiet before now, steps forward. "I can help." 

The black haired man shoots a mean look at the brown haired man. "What can _you _do?" he asks, like he's talking to a bug. 

The shorter man is unruffled. He turns to the doctor. "I have O type blood. I'll volunteer for the transfer. If it'll save her." 

The doctor looks at the man. "I must warn you, it's a risky procedure. She needs a lot of blood. If something goes wrong, it could leave you in the same position she is." 

The man swallows hard; she can see his Adam's apple bob. "If it'll save her," he repeats. The black haired man wants to say something, but the first man stares him down. "You're not the only one who loves her." 

The doctor speaks to the taller man. "As next-of-kin, I'll have to ask you to sign the release form. We won't have time to screen the blood for every virus. There are plenty of risks involved." 

The black haired man looks upset. He obviously doesn't like the other man, but eventually he sighs and slumps his shoulders, defeated. "If it'll save her," he echoes. 

~~~~~~~~ 

Daria opened her eyes, blearily taking in her surroundings; or what she could see of them, at any rate. Which, at the moment, wasn't much. Several blurry shapes went in and out of focus. Eventually, however, a semi-recognizable face swam into view, and with some effort, she focused on it. It was Trent. 

"Hey, love." Trent's face was overwhelmed with emotion, worry and relief and most of all happiness at seeing her awake. He enfolded her in a warm embrace that Daria never wanted to end. 

"Hey, hey, hey, don't suffocate the poor girl," Jane's voice interrupted their hug. Sitting down next to the bed, she grinned at Daria. "It was a close thing, but you pulled through. With a little help." 

"Help?" Daria's thoughts were swimming; the last thing she remembered was telling Trent she loved him, and then a lot of pain in her abdomen, and then...nothing. Which was precisely how said abdomen felt at the moment; no pain, just... nothing. "What happened?" 

"You miscarried again. Lost a lot of blood. Nearly died," said Jane matter-of-factly. "How do you feel?" 

Daria winced involuntarily. "Sort of a cross between a hangover and the aftereffects of being subjected to the tender mercies of the Marquis du Sade." She sat up slowly, trying to get her bearings. The room spun around her slowly for a moment, but eventually settled firmly into place. "I do feel better than I did before I blacked out. Thanks." 

"You'd think just about anything would be an improvement from that," Jane remarked. "But you shouldn't thank us. We weren't the ones responsible for your recovery." Jane pointed to the other side of the bed. Tom was standing there, smiling, but quiet. 

"Tom?" Daria was suddenly acutely aware of Trent's embrace, which had become rather stiff. "What happened?" she asked again. 

"You needed a blood transfer, but they didn't have any of the right type of blood," he said. "So I donated some of mine." 

"Oh." Daria didn't know what to say; what did you say to someone who had just saved your life? "Thanks." 

He smiled again. "It's enough of a thanks just seeing you awake and alive, Daria." 

There was an awkward moment where no one seemed to know what to say; then Jane jumped up and said, "I don't know about everyone else, but I'm hungry. How about some pizza to celebrate the return of our friend to the land of the living?" 

Daria smiled weakly. "All right. But it'd better just be cheese for me. I don't think I could stomach processed animal innards right now." 

~~~~~~~~ 

Daria lay on the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. Although she felt much better, the staff had insisted she stay overnight for observation. She had protested minimally; after all, nearly dying tended to take a lot from a person. 

It was ironic, in a way. Here she had been in a coma and nearly died from blood loss, and now that she was feeling better, she couldn't sleep. She wondered if it was because subconsciously she was afraid she wouldn't wake up again. All she knew was, it felt like her adrenal glands were releasing a slow but steady stream of adrenaline into her bloodstream; not enough to get her totally riled up, but enough to keep her restless and awake. 

Trent turned over in the portable bed the nurse had set up for him. She could hear his peaceful, rhythmic breathing. She wondered what he was dreaming about. She wondered what had happened when he found out about her and Tom. 

Which brought her to another question. What would she do about Tom? She had been purposefully steering her thinking away from that question, not sure if she was ready to deal with it yet. But now, here it was, in all its grandeur and simplicity. What was she going to do about Tom? 

In an effort to procrastinate that decision for a little while longer, she turned to her old hobby of counting cracks in the ceiling. It was an excellent activity for numbing one's mind; she used to do it to take her mind off things that she didn't want to think about. Tonight, however, each crack seemed to represent something in her life; the gulf between her and Trent, the dissimilarities between her and Tom, her differing feelings for them both. 

She loved Trent. Really she did. She loved Tom too. _He _loved her, and had risked his life to save her. She knew she could be happy with either of them. But whichever one she went with, she left a broken heart. It wasn't something she wanted to be responsible for. 

Daria had never been a praying person, or really even a believer in God. She had never actually given it much thought. Always having prided herself on her self-sufficency, she hadn't ever felt like she needed divine help. But tonight, lost in a haze of self-doubt and indecision, her thoughts turned to prayer, or something like it, almost against her will. _Please, God,_ she thought, _if you even exist, give me an answer of some sort. Something to point me in the right direction._

But things remained as they were; Trent's peaceful breathing, the sounds of the nurses in the hallway, the moon coming in through the window of her room, her turmoil of thoughts. The night stoically refused to give up its secrets. It figured. 

~~~~~~~~ 

Trent woke up to sun streaming through the small hospital room window. It fell across the room and illuminated Daria's face. Although she was still gray from her ordeal, and looked as if she hadn't slept in a week, Trent thought she was beautiful. And with the sun haloing her face and burnishing her hair a dark red-bronze, she truly was. 

Deciding not to wake her just yet, he pulled out his notebook. It was something he and Daria had in common, both being writers of a sort. She kept hers for story ideas; he kept his for lyrics. Looking again at her beautiful face, he scribbled down a few lines. 

Awhile later, he saw that Daria's eyes were open and watching him. "Good morning," he said, putting down his pen and flipping his notebook closed. 

"Isn't that a contradiction in terms?" she asked tartly. 

He smiled; she definitely was feeling better. "Nice to have you back, love." 

"What were you writing?" she wanted to know. 

"Just a few of my thoughts," he said, and let it go at that. The time would come to read them to her, but now wasn't it. 

She didn't pry, either. "I feel better." 

"Good." He got up and went over to her bed. "I've been waiting for a chance to do this since we got married." 

"What--" she started to ask, then protested as he lifted her up, "I can walk for myself, you know." 

"I know," he said. "But I never did get a chance to sweep you off your feet." 

She smiled slightly at that. "All right then. But just this once." She wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed him to carry her to a chair, where he proceeded to help her dress, amidst protestations and complaints that she wasn't a child or a doll. But he would have none of it. Eventually he took her in his arms again and carried her out to the front desk, where a wheelchair was waiting. 

"Oh, _honestly_," Daria said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not an invalid." But Trent gently set her down in it, and after signing the appropriate paperwork, wheeled her out of the hospital and to their car. 

During the ride home, they were both quiet. Trent glanced at her from time to time, but she seemed intent on staring out the window. What was she thinking about? Was she sorry that they were together now? Did she want to live with Tom? Thousands of half-formed ideas and thoughts swirled through his head, to the point where he found it hard to concentrate on driving. Finally, though, his mind settled on one question: Was there any chance he and Daria could get back what they had when they were first married? 

He was about to ask her what she thought when he looked at her again. She was still staring out the window, apparently lost in thought. Her body language didn't seem to be inviting conversation, either. He decided to ask her later. Things could wait. 

~~~~~~~~ 

The next night, Daria was still sleepless. Trent's breathing was still there beside her; the moon was still coming in the window; if she closed her eyes, she could very well imagine herself back at the hospital. But that wasn't the problem. There was something bugging her, something which she couldn't put her finger on, but that niggled at the back of her mind anyway. Every time she almost had it, it slipped away from her again. Thoughts were like cats -- the more you chased them, the farther you got from them. You had to let them come to you on their own. 

Getting up, she went to the window. The moon was on the horizon; looking at the half-finished side of it, she realized it would be full within the next week. She hoped it would be clear that night; the latent romantic in her loved full moons. Maybe her thought would finally come to her then, and she would be able to deal with whatever it was. But until then, she was doomed to sleeplessness. 

Turning her head, she gazed at Trent's sleeping form. He slept on his stomach, face buried in the pillow; something which he had done since teenagerhood. Daria often wondered if it was the lack of oxygen which made him so hard to wake up. He looked so...innocent, almost, like an overgrown child. She wasn't sure what gave her that impression, but there it was. 

She turned back to the window. Although they were sleeping in the same bed again, she hadn't let things go beyond a few kisses and cuddles. She still felt a little guilty about sleeping with Tom, and was still a bit uncomfortable around Trent. He had been understanding enough, for which she was grateful. 

Sighing, she went to the bed and lay down gently, trying not to disturb him. He stirred slightly though, put an arm around her and whispered, "I love you." 

A single tear traced a shadowy path down her cheek. She didn't deserve him. She didn't deserve the care and attention he gave her. She couldn't even say "I love you" back to him. Not yet. 

~~~~~~~~ 

The next few days brought a measure of security back into her life. She fell back into the daily routine of work, home, eat, and sleep without too much trouble. Things were still at a standstill with her and Trent, though. There were plenty of things that needed talking about, but neither of them were particularly good at talking or even wanted to broach the unpleasant subject. So they pretended it had never happened. Something inside her said that this was exactly what had driven them apart in the first place, this lack of communication, but she pushed that thought down. _If Trent really loves me, he'll wait until I'm ready to talk about it._

Her insomnia was getting worse, though. She was lucky if she got more than two hours of sleep a night. Something kept bothering her, and because of it, she couldn't seem to lose herself into the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness. Several of her co-workers, including her friend Eric, expressed concern over her haggard appearance, but she waved it off as aftereffects of the miscarriage. She had taken to spending nights in the windowseat, staring at the moon, trying to absorb some of the peace it seemed to exude. 

Things came to a head, as she had hoped, on the night of the full moon. She was looking out the window early that evening, wanting to watch the moonrise. Unfortunately, it was overcast for the first time that week. 

Trent seemed to sense that she was disappointed. He came up from behind, put his arms around her, and looked out the window. "No stars tonight, it seems." 

"No." She snuggled back slightly into his warmth; she hadn't realized until then how much she missed his physical contact. "No moon either." 

"Hm. Too bad." They rocked slightly, from side to side, still looking out the window. "The full moon gives off incredible vibes. That's why artists get inspired by it." 

Daria smiled slightly; in many ways, he hadn't changed since she was a teenager. It was one of the things she found most endearing about him. "Trent?" she said, watching his reflection in the glass. 

"Hmm?" His eyes were downcast, almost closed, looking at her hair. 

_I love you, Trent. _"Thanks for taking me to the hospital. You saved my life." 

"I love you, Daria." He kissed her hair. "I'd never want to lose you." He slowly moved downward, nibbling her ear, moving her hair aside and kissing the back of her neck. "You're so beautiful..." he breathed, kissing the side of her neck, up her jawline, and eventually coming to her mouth. They went from gentle to deeper, more passionate, more urgent. Daria could feel his pent-up hunger as he put his hand to the top button of her blouse-- 

"Don't," Daria said, putting her hand against his. "Please, just...don't." 

"I'm sorry." Trent withdrew his hand immediately. "It's just...hard." His voice was hoarse. "I love you so much..." 

"I know." Daria turned back to the window. "I know." 

~~~~~~~~ 

That night turned out to be the worst so far. She didn't feel the least bit tired, even though every muscle in her body ached for rest. She sat fully clothed in her usual place at the windowseat, listening to Trent breathe, wondering when she would be comfortable with him -- hell, with _herself_ -- again. 

Watching the sky, she looked at the place where the moon was hidden. It was shining brightly, none the less, the light scattered and filtered through the cloud-cover. 

Just then, a gust of wind blew the clouds away from the moon. For one bright, shining instant, the full moon was unveiled and glowing in all her glory. 

Daria drew a sharp breath then, realizing what it was that had been eating at her for the past week. Standing up, she went to the door quietly, taking one last look at Trent's sleeping form. "Goodbye," she whispered to him, and then left. She wasn't sure yet if she'd be back or not. 

~~~~~~~~ 

Tom sat, looking out the window, gazing at the same unveiled moon that Daria had been a moment ago. It was late, he needed sleep, but he couldn't seem to get it. He had the mail in his lap. The letter on top was addressed in a flowing hand, and had "Pictures Enclosed - Do Not Bend" stamped on the front. 

He sighed. No use putting off the inevitable. Slitting the envelope open, he looked at the enclosed pictures. They were all of an adorable, happy nine year old girl, engaged in a variety of activities. Some of them also had the girl's mother, a beautiful blonde woman. Her daughter had sandy blonde hair and the same smile. 

Looking through the pictures, Tom couldn't help but smile himself. They looked so happy. He loved them both. But things hadn't worked out too well... 

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was past midnight. Was there some sort of emergency? Had somebody died? 

Going up to the door, he opened it. Standing there, holding on to the doorframe for support, was Daria. 

"Tom," she said, her voice wavering, "We need to talk." 

He was immediately concerned. They hadn't seen each other since the morning that she woke up. He had sensed that she needed to be alone with Trent, and had therefore backed off. But here she was, looking in worse shape than the day she had told him she was pregnant with his child. There were dark bags under her eyes, her hair needed brushing, and he could tell she was exhausted. He quickly ushered her in before she collapsed on his doorstep. 

He fiddled with things nervously, sorting through mail, organizing things on his coffee table, little things like that. She didn't seem to notice. "What's the problem?" 

Silence for a moment. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts. Finally she asked point-blank, "Why did you do it?" 

He was momentarily confused. "Do what?" 

"The blood transfer. Save my life. When I'm not even sure it was worth saving." 

Ah. Now he understood. "Of course it was." 

She got up and started pacing. "No, it wasn't. My marriage is screwed beyond belief. I can't sleep with my husband because I feel too guilty. I can't talk to him about it either. I nearly had a child by a man who I wasn't married to. My work and my health are both deteriorating; I haven't been able to get more than three hours of sleep per night. I'm not helping anyone. I'm not bettering anyone's life. I'm just dead weight." She laughed mirthlessly. "Why didn't you let me die?" 

Tom thought for a long moment about how to answer. Daria was obviously guilty and hurt. He didn't want to say anything that would upset her further when she needed to calm down so badly. "Do you think it's my fault?" 

"That I'm alive? Yes. That my life is so screwed up? No. That had nothing to do with you. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time." 

He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "What do you want me to do?" 

"I DON'T KNOW!" she exploded, whirling toward him. "You can't do anything. I don't expect you to. I just want to know why you saved my horrible, screwed-up, worthless life!" 

Tom decided it was time to be a little more assertive. Standing up, he put his hands on her shoulders, holding her still. "Daria, your life may be messed up, but it is most definitely not worthless." He sat her down on the couch, then took the place next to her. "I love you. But I've been doing some thinking about you. About us. And I want to show you something." 

She nodded, the fight going out of her. Without the adrenaline running through her system, he could see how tired she really was. Tom reached over to the coffeetable and picked up the pictures he had been looking at earlier. Silently, he handed them to her. 

She looked through them, then looked at him. "Is this your daughter?" 

"Yes." Tom took them back and put them away. "The woman's name is Laura. When we were in college, she and I were a couple. I loved her, really and truly. However, when we slept together, something went wrong, and I got her pregnant." He closed his eyes; dredging up this memory was painful. "When my parents found out, there was an uproar. Being the powerful and influential family that we were and still are, my father was worried about how this would look to our clients as well as our rivals. So he gave me two options." 

"Marry her or break up with her?" Daria didn't need long to figure it out. 

"Yes. The usual. The thing of it is, I was only 20, and what with having my whole life in front of me, I decided I was too young to get married. So, even though I loved her, I told Laura goodbye. She wasn't happy about it, but she understood my feelings. Now you can see what my wishy-washiness has gotten me." He gestured around himself. "An empty apartment. An addiction to work. A constant feeling of emptness that I keep trying to fill." 

Daria wasn't sure where he was heading with this. "So the reason you saved me was because it gave you some misguided sense of importance?" 

"Partly. But mostly, it was because I realized that it wasn't my freedom that was most important in life. It wasn't work, or material things. It was the people that I love." 

Daria raised an eyebrow. "Why does this sound like some overmoralized, melodramatic TV special?" 

Tom laughed at that. "I don't know, really. It does sound cliched, but to tell the truth, it's taken me this long to figure it out. So here I am, with a kid I've never seen except in pictures, a woman I love deeply who already has a boyfriend, and a woman I love also who's married. To someone she loves." He shrugged. "Luck of the draw, I suppose. But what I most want for you, Daria, is to be happy. And to tell the truth, I think you're married to a man who would make you much happier than I could. Don't feel guilty about what happened with us. Don't feel like you owe me anything, except perhaps your friendship." He smiled at her. "Who knows, maybe if Laura breaks up with her boyfriend, I can call her up sometime." 

Daria gave a small smile in return. "Thank you, Tom." 

"Sure," he said. "But to settle a more practical question, I don't think you should drive home in your condition. You look like you haven't slept in a week." 

"As a matter of fact, I haven't. This kept eating at me, you know? But I feel better now. Do you mind if I crash here?" 

"Not at all. If you're sure Trent won't mind." 

"I think he'll believe me if I tell him it was innocent enough." She yawned hugely. "I guess I'll see you in the morning." 

Going over to the closet, Tom pulled out a blanket and pillow and tossed them at her. "Sleep well." 

She nodded slowly, more to herself than to him. "I think I will." 

~~~~~~~~ 

Daria pulled the car into her driveway. It was funny, actually; she was coming home at about the same time she had that fateful morning over a month ago. Except this time, she was glad to be home, and also, she wasn't dreading the confrontation she'd have when she got in the door. 

The door opened before she reached the top step. Trent stood there looking at her, not with anger or malice, but with love, and more than a little happiness. It was a look he hadn't given her in a long time, but it still melted her heart, and she met his eyes. 

"Hey, love." 

This time, she knew exactly how to respond. "Hello, love." 

"We need to talk." 

"Yes, we do." 

She went inside, hung up her coat, and sat down on the couch. Trent went into the kitchen and brought something out: an arrangement of a dozen deep purple roses, her favorite. 

"Welcome home." 

They talked. And they talked. About her guilt, about the baby, and about the future of their marriage. When they came to a lull in the conversation an hour later, Trent reached for his acoustic guitar. 

"Remember that morning in the hospital when you wanted to know what I was writing?" he asked. When Daria nodded, he said, "Well, this is what came out of it." And with that, he began to sing. 

_Thank God I nearly lost you_  
_For it made me realize  
How much you really meant to me  
When I looked into your eyes._

_I could kick myself for all the times  
I've been so cold to you  
Not appreciating what I had  
Never saying how much I love you._

_You lay there, begging me  
To keep you from death's door  
I felt so helpless and alone  
Seeing you dying on the floor.  
  
Thank God I nearly lost you  
For it made me realize  
What I truly had in you  
When I looked into your eyes._

Looking into her eyes again, he smiled. She smiled back, feeling the love between them flow once again without obstruction. "I love you, Trent." 

"I love you too, Daria." 

And this time when he kissed her, she didn't stop him. 

**Epilogue**

Tom looked at the soup row of the market aisle, and found that they were having a sale on his favorite kind of soup. Whistling absently, he tossed a few cans in along with the rest of the week's shopping. 

Turning the corner of the aisle, he saw the Valentine's Day display on one side, everything marked 50% off. Not surprising, considering that it _was _Valentine's Day. Not that he had a sweetheart to send chocolates to this year, but it was still nice seeing people happy. 

A familiar voice interrupted his musings just then. "Tom? Is that you?" 

Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Daria and Trent coming toward him. Holding onto Trent's hand was a dark-haired girl who looked about 8 or 9. 

It had been over a year since he had last seen Daria, although Jane had kept him up to date on how things were going. She looked quite happy, too. He felt a small stab of envy, but quickly quashed it as she came up to hug him. 

"Hey, Daria. Long time no see. Who's the kid?" 

Daria picked up the girl, who seemed curious but shy. "Anita, meet Uncle Tom. Tom, this is Anita." 

"Hello," she said. 

"Hello," he greeted her. 

They made small talk for awhile, catching up on news and each other's activities. Finally Anita, who had been staring at Tom the whole time, blurted out, "Daddy, he doesn't _look _like an overdressed asshole!" 

Trent suddenly seemed overwhelmed in a fit of coughing. Tom laughed it off, though. "Nice seeing you again," he said to Daria, and they went their seperate ways. 

Once at home, he went to check his mail. There, hidden among the bills and advertisements, was a letter addressed in a flowing, feminine hand. Going inside, he took it inside to read. 

He leaned against the counter, looking down the page. There were the usual greetings and pleasantries at first, but as he went down the page, his eyes widened slightly...putting it down, he did something that he knew he should have done a long time ago. 

He picked up the phone and dialed. "Hello, Laura? This is Tom..." 

**The End (at last!)**

Whew, it's finally over. Finally! And now for the thank you's...Louis Reneau from _Casablanca_ Round up the usual suspects. /Louis Thanks to Barb for telling me how horrible this story really was in it's first draft (and probably still is). Thanks especially to Brian Taylor for keeping me writing during the periods when I got stuck in the doldrums, as well as for introducing me to Blue Oyster Cult (it really is pretty inspirational, especially when mixed with insanely large amounts of caffiene). And to Cincgreen, if you're out there in cyberspace reading this...thank you for the candy cane, and feel free to flame this to ashes. I'm already working on a new one (see shameless self-promotion below) that will probably make your stomach churn worse than C_________'s series evil grin. See you all next time! 

**Shameless Self-Promotion:**

COMING SOON FROM FROZEN ROZE STUDIOS   
{image of a crystal rose with icicles dangling from the petals} 

**Magic. Mystery. Intrigue. Death Eaters. Quiddich. A new year at Hogwarts, this time with...  
Daria and Jane?**  
_{Big band music plays}_

**Coming this holiday season, an adventure through the heights of magic...**  
{_A youngish Jane points a wand and yells "Expelliarimus!"}_

**And the depths of sarcasm...**  
_{A younger, still deadpan Daria says "We're two Albanian princesses who got tired of cooking for the dragons who had captured us."}_

**With plenty of surprises.**  
_{Jane trying to open a trunk. Daria, looking bored, says "Have you considered trying "Open Sesame?" Music stops as trunk pops open. Jane looks at Daria and says "That was so predictable."}_

_{Music starts again}_

**Coming soon to a website near you.**  
_{Youngish Jane talking to youngish Daria. "Physically we look 11, but mentally we're 17." Daria replies, "When Mom's friend Willow told me I had an old soul, I don't think this is what she had in mind."}_

Overlay in Harry Potter title font: **(Hopefully by) Thanksgiving 2001**


End file.
